


Venting

by Not_You



Series: A Gentleman of Negotiable Virtue [13]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Fisting, M/M, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-30
Updated: 2012-12-30
Packaged: 2017-11-22 23:05:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/615372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_You/pseuds/Not_You
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik kind of likes being a stress ball.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Venting

Years in the trade have made Erik excellent at ascertaining what people need. Right now, Charles needs to blow off some steam, and Erik is delighted to help him. They have to finish their brandy, of course. Charles is a gentleman, not a beast, but at last Erik can lead him onto the lift and kneel beside him. Charles kisses him and for a moment Erik wonders if he has misjudged, but then Charles's hands are in his hair and he's biting Erik's lip, rough and hungry and angry. Erik whines and shudders, and stares into Charles's dilated, wild eyes when pulls away at last, panting. They sit there like fools at the top of the stairs for a moment, and then they're headed to Charles's room. Raven is out for the night and Erik is glad, because he's planning on getting loud.

"Erik," Charles says when the door is closed, and Erik hates the timorousness in it, "the weather is very rainy indeed. Practically sleeting."

"I'll weather the weather whatever the weather, whether you like it or not, Professor Xavier." He finds lube and latex gloves, coming back to Charles. "And I still want you to fuck me."

That's how Erik ends up on his hands and knees, Charles in his chair with the brake set and his slick fingers delving and twisting and opening him up. His touch is rough and demanding and Erik moans, already lightly dewed with sweat, trembling as he backs up onto Charles's hand. Charles hasn't removed a stitch of clothing, and Erik wishes for a mirror, wanting to see the perfect, lurid picture they must make. Two fingers buried deep inside, and Erik groans, spreading his legs a little more. 

"More, Charles," he growls, "I know you want to fuck me harder." Charles lets out a lost whimper behind him, and it's three fingers now, sudden and burning and Erik cries out. Charles sets up a punishing rhythm, hard and deep and greedy. He was never like this when he was paying for it, and Erik is horrified to think he might never have discovered this facet of his personality.

"Erik," Charles whispers, adding more lube and pushing all four fingers back in, "Oh, Erik, you have to tell me if this is too much, you have to tell me, I—"

"Perfect," Erik groans, back arching as his chest drops to the floor. "God, Charles, I want it, I want it, please fuck me, fuck me _hard_ …" He wails as Charles shoves his hand forward, thrusting faster and faster, pulling out almost completely each time only to thrust back in to the knuckles, the tip of his thumb inside Erik. It seems to go on forever, and it hurts so much and feels so fucking good that Erik wonders if this will be what makes him lose his mind at last. And then there's more lube and he's sinking back and back and back, eyes rolling back in his head as he crawls back to Charles, body swallowing his whole hand. He's already dripping precome on the carpet, and fucking _jets_ it at the surprised little noise Charles makes.

"Fuck, Erik," he breathes, "are you all right?"

"Fucking perfect," Erik whimpers, and rocks his hips, moaning. "God, yes…" He's losing coherency fast, and settles for fucking himself mercilessly on Charles's hand. After a small eternity, Charles gets with the program and Erik just collapses, letting Charles use him and loving it. The stretch is so huge and intense that each thrust seems to move the world, and he's gladder than ever that Raven is gone, because before long he's wailing with every breath, helpless to stop it. Charles growls behind him, angry and hungry and so _rough_. The only reason Erik doesn't come is that he's feeling too much, cock soft as if his body has forgotten about it. There are no words in his cries, just desperation spiraling higher and higher and echoing off the ceiling. He's shaking, covered in sweat, and his throat is as raw as his ass when Charles finally gently, gently works his hand out. He rests the clean one on Erik's back, and Erik can feel him trembling.

"Erik?"

It takes him a moment to marshal his tongue into complex movement again. "Good," he gasps, "so fucking good, I'm fine." Better than fine, and he stays there on his hands and knees for a moment, head hanging as he catches his breath, thighs trembling. "Fuck, _Charles_ …"

"I-I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me." And he sounds honestly penitent, which is a problem, but first Erik has to laugh at the phrasing until he cries, lazily tipping onto his side and gazing up at Charles, who looks a little calmer. His eyes are still too big as he strips off the glove, but he manages a tentative smile, still flushed, pupils blown like someone has drugged him. Erik purrs and wriggles on the rug like a contented cat, grinning back at him.


End file.
